


Drabbles

by bunnybrook



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Drunk calls, Immortality, M/M, Psychological Torture, Sick Fic, linguine, mentions of self harm, prose, spoilers for episode 25
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnybrook/pseuds/bunnybrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They put themselves together with stardust and quiet fascination, despite bloody knuckles and broken hearts. Cecil go into fist fights and Carlos was shoved into lockers too small to fit him. One learned that his tongue was the greatest weapon he’d ever have and the other wished he could just cut his out.

Neither had parents, not really. Cecil was raised by Night Vale, by hooded figures and vivid dreams that passed like fog through his mind.Carlos was raised by text books he found in the recycling bins because being one out of five meant that there was always someone more important than you.

They grew up knowing sleep was the enemy, that there was no one in this world built for them. They grew up knowing they were failures and worked too hard to prove that they weren’t.

They damaged themselves in little ways, with cigarette smoke and music so loud it shook their bones. They wrote on their skin with razor blades and sharpies, knowing it was toxic and hoping they’d  feel better if they knew they weren’t going to live as long.

And when they met there was a supernova that slowly collapsed into a black hole as they sucked each other up, never letting go. They’ll never let go.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Carlos."

"Cecil it’s three AM."

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaah but you answered your phone. So. Guessing you were up."

"Oh. Well."

"I just called to say I love youuuuuuu"

"Cecil, you’re drunk."

"No. Wait. Yes. Drunk. Like. Alcohol. Love you."

"Love you too."

"So in love with you. Carloooooosss I’d wear linguine for youuuuuuuuuu."

"What?"

"Linguine. Shit. Wait. I meant linguine."

"Cecil, you’re not making any sense."

[a muffled shrieking noise is heard]

"Cecil?"

"I’m gonna call you…. tomorrow. (muttering) Oh god this is worse than neat."

"Okay? Have a goodnight."

"Goodnight, my Carlos."

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Carlos, when’s your birthday? I need to know, this is very important." Cecil’s voice is frantic, like he had known at one point and had forgotten.

"Don’t worry. It’s in February."

"Oh."

There’s a long, regnant pause over the phone. Carlos rocks on his feet and listens to Cecil breath.

"What day?"

"The 29th. Usually I just celebrate on the 28th and the firs-"

There’s a sharp gasp through the phone and Carlos stops talking.

"Cecil are you okay?"

“ _A forever child_.”

"What?"

"Carlos you’re going to live forever."

“ _What?_ ”

"The 29th is a sacred day. Oh, this is great news!"

"Cecil, I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"Doesn’t matter. Explain later, I need to get you tea leaves!"

“ _What?_  Cecil, I don’t drink tea-“

But Cecil had already hung up. If Carlos was lucky Cecil would forget about this and just fail to explain. If he wasn’t lucky then Cecil wouldn’t shut up about him being born on a ‘sacred’ day for weeks. 

And for some reason, the latter didn’t seem so bad right now.


	4. Chapter 4

He’s laying flat on his back on a dirty floor, his senses still coming back to him. Someone is touching him. He hurts. 

There is a sad feeling in his chest and at first he can’t tell why. He smells blood and gunpowder and thinks for a moment about war but then he realizes why he is sad.

There is sobbing coming from the radio, played over the bowling alley speakers and Carlos stands up even though it hurts. Teddy Williams is insisting that he lay back down but he stands, flipping Teddy off and digging in his coat for his phone (it was cracked but still working). 

He walks out into his car and begins to shake, trying to type out a message. 

_Let’s get out of here._

_Come over to my house._

_I want to see you._

That last one was perfect so he pressed send with his anxious hands, sweating skin barely able to control the steering wheel as he drove.

He paced when he stopped the car, turning the radio up so he could hear Cecil’s relieved voice, even outside of his car. He settled on the trunk, his legs out to keep him supported.

Cecil came outside and they talked for some moments before a heavy silence draped over them and they huddled under it like two children keeping out the cold with thick wool blankets.

 _Say it_.

They were touching now, feeling all too close together. He hadn’t realized how beautiful Cecil was before and his face practically glowed in the half-light.

_Say something, anything, you idiot._

Cecil turned to him, caught him staring and smiled. Carlos didn’t have to say anything. He took a breath and moved to lean in and press their lips together (actions speak louder than words) but Cecil jolted away from him.

"I need to get back inside," he said and he smiled with those beautiful, glittering teeth.

"Oh."

"I’m so glad you’re alright."

And Cecil’s relieved voice made things better. It made everything better, Carlos wanted to follow Cecil inside and touch him until all he remembered was the warmth of this man’s skin but he knew he shouldn’t.

He got into his car and drove back to his lab, knowing he wouldn’t sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Cecil was a happy man. He had a radio show and that was grand. He couldn’t quite remember his first broadcast, he couldn’t remember if it had been before Europe or afterwards but it didn’t matter, did it? His show was grand.

He had a boyfriend too and that was  _wonderful_.

He thought about his boyfriend a lot, even if he didn’t mean to. It made him sigh out loud and stare at things he wasn’t supposed to be staring at. It made him smile, made him look like any other delusional man walking down the street.

"They’re keeping missiles in the warehouse they just built," Steve told him, looking down to where Cecil’s head was resting in his lap.

"That’s good, right?"

"No, it’s bad."

"Oh. Okay."

There was an unspoken rule in Night Vale that if Cecil Baldwin loved some thing or someone then the town would love it. No one liked Steve Carlsberg. The secret police were watching him and if the secret police were watching then no one else had to. (No one else wanted to.)

"Dear listeners," Cecil would say on the radio in his hypnotic voice, his radio purr. "I was with my boyfriend, Steve Carlsberg last night and he was speculating that perhaps the new warehouse downtown is holding  _nuclear missiles_. What would you think about that? God, he’s amazing…”

—-

He talked about his boyfriend to anyone who would listen to him.

'My boyfriend, Steve Carlsberg and I were talking and he was thinking, maybe, the moon does exist.'

'He's seen mountains! How  _amazing_  is that?’

'His scones are  _amazing_.’

'He has a whole library in his house!'

—-

And then there was the box.

It had started with a friendly not from the city council (‘You’re one of the lucky citizens who’s been called in for re-education!) and of course, he was a good citizen, he reported to city hall when asked even though Steve told him not to go.

 —-

The box was

_ssssssssmall_

and  **LOUD**  and

dark and

_stop_

p-please stop

I didn’t mean it I’ll stop beliveing I’ll be good just make it

stop.

—-

And Cecil was a happy man. He had a radio show and that was his life. Of course, there were some people in town that he hated, like the Apache Tracker and Steve Carlsberg but Cecil was happy. Content, even. Safe was a bit of a stretch, even for him. Cecil was a happy man.


	6. Chapter 6

"No you don’t understand," Cecil insisted. "You /can’t/ get sick."

Carlos coughed and blinked, trying to formulate a response around the fever. 

"I mean, you have to get forms and talk to the council, you can’t just-"

"Cecil," he finally said and Cecil finally went silent. "I’m not going to get in trouble. I just need to rest."

Cecil nodded sagely.

"Should you lay down?" he asked. Carlos shook his head. "What about… uh… Food? Don’t people eat when they’re sick?" Carlos shook his head again. "I know for a fact you need sleep."

"Rest is different from sleep. Sleeping in this town is dangerous," Carlos countered. Everything in this town was dangerous. Cecil shifted closer on the couch, so their legs were pressed together. They were both still getting used to the fact that they were a thing now, that a year of infatuation and swooning and dreaming about the other wasn’t for nothing.

"I’ll keep you safe," Cecil said. "I can call the council and ask if it would be okay for me to have your dreams tonight."

Carlos tried to hide a smile. He then tried to say something but coughed instead. 

"You don’t have to do that," Carlos said.

"But I want to. Look I’ll call right now, I’ll be right back." 

Cecil stood, hesitated then kissed Carlos on the cheek before leaving the room. Carlos sat for a moment, a bit stunned, his heart fluttering before touching his cheek and stretching out on his couch. Maybe sleep would be good, even with the dreams. It was better than suffering through a throbbing head and stuffy nose. 


	7. A Poem about Carlos (scrawled in messy handwriting on a napkin left at the Moonlite All Nite Diner)

i have called men perfect before

the way someone would call a meal perfect

so as not to hurt the chef’s feelings

and they’ve always broken my heart

hearts?

(sometimes it would be easier to see inside yourself and know how you worked)

they broke my heart because they heard me say

that the wind outside that played with my hair

and stole my breath 

was perfect 

and it sounded like the way i said i love you

but you are perfect

it sounds idiotic now

but you are more perfect than a frankly offensive cherry pie

and you’re more perfect than the nights that it rains

and everyone stays awake breathing in the water

drowning on land

you are more perfect than

the heart shattering moment when you relearn that death

will leave no one untouched

i wish i could touch you

just once

you’re perfect


	8. A Poem about Cecil (Written neatly in a green, college ruled notebook)

Words have never made sense to me

The way that you’re supposed to say things

To convey feelings

To convey ideas

Why can’t we have something easier to manipulate?

Art has never been easy for me

I wish I could write in math sometimes

Because I hate numbers

But everyone understands them

I’ve never been able to understand words

Or painting

Or dancing

Or music

And you are all of this

You are ethereal

You are so abstract in the way you move

And the way you mention torture as if

It’s an everyday occurrence

It’s scary

I think I love you

You make me want to write poetry


End file.
